Saturday, April 16, 2016

I spent at least ten minutes searching on Google trying to
find out what that sticker is actually called (and ten minutes in internet
time, is at least a decade in old-school library card catalog time), but people
who actually still buy CDs and DVDs (or did at any point) know what I'm talking
about. It's that stupid sticker with the artist's name and album title (and bar
code) that wraps over the top edge of CD jewel cases and generally make it a
pain in the dick to open and always seem to rip into dozens of tiny sticky
pieces and leave tacky gunk on the case. You know those horrible little things.
If anyone knows if there is official name for these things, let me know.

I recently
rediscovered these delightful nuisances. Like an increasing number of music
enthusiasts, most of my music purchases over the past several years have been
on vinyl. CDs have not been by regularly purchased format since the late 90s. Unfortunately,
recently I have had some problems with my receiver which has made me unable to
play records, and as the recent Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction ceremony (and
surrounding controversies) set me off of a Deep Purple listening binge, I
decided to order a bunch of CDs from Amazon. (Those who would be quick to
admonish me for not supporting independent record stores should know that I did
look in numerous shops for all of the albums before resorting to online
purchases.)

Why I did this instead of just listening to them on Spotify
or YouTube (or, in this case, in addition to doing so) has more to do with old
habits and principles than anything practical. Not to dwell too much on a point
on which I have pontificated so often before, the fact is that when I was
growing up you bought music. Sure, on occasion, a friend would dub an album
onto a cassette for you, but by and large, music was a physical artifact that
you bought, you listened to, and you treasured. Collections were usually on display,
showing off your investment (emotional and financial), as well as giving the
curious and analytically minded guest an insight into your personality through
your choices.

So at any rate, in the last few days, I have been getting
packages from Amazon full of CDs, and I have now found myself trying to utilize
that skill that I have not practiced regularly in at least fifteen years:
Getting those fucking labels off, and doing it in style.

I know this sounds trivial, but I put to you that this was a
way of showing commitment.

When I was in college in the mid 90s, one of my roommates (we'll
call him Tom O to avoid protecting his identity) used to cover the inside door
of his wardrobe with top label stickers of discs that he had bought and which
he had managed to remove in one piece. The dexterous removal of these stickers
was a sign of investment and engagement with music. It showed that you cared.
Much like the ability to handle records properly, or to wind a reel to reel
tape, the ability to deftly remove these horrible little things demonstrated a
tactile skill that came with a serious dedication to listening to and engaging
with music. It was a skill that developed through practice, from buying a lot
of CDs and caring intensely about the tangible and fragile artifact that
carried the music.

Oh yeah.

I feel like millennials will not understand this. They don't
buy CDs anyway (to be fair, most people don't anymore). Also, looking back, I remember
looking at the modest collections of my baby-boomer parents and their friends, full
of cracked jewel cases and ripped stickers, evidence that they couldn't be
bothered to show their commitment to music through manual dexterity on such an
obsessive compulsive level.

Maybe this was only a Gen X thing. Or maybe it was just a little
part of Gen X. Or, who knows?

Maybe it was just me and my roommate, Tom O. At
any rate, now I have found myself having to try my hand at it again, finessing
that little piece of plastic, trying to get it off in one piece. I gotta tell
you, I still got it.

(Seriously, though, if anyone knows a better name than
"jewel case top wrap-around label," let me know. Or even make on up.
I'm open to colorful suggestions.)

Trying in Vain to Find Logic in the Rock and Roll Hall of
Fame's Induction Process

This Friday, the 2016 Rock and Roll Hall of Fame induction
ceremony will be held at the Barclays Center in Brooklyn, and this year Deep
Purple, the classic English rock band that is credited with helping to lay the
groundwork for heavy metal, is finally being inducted. Having been eligible
since 1993, many believe that this honor is long overdue, and others feared it
would never happen as more and more diverse acts meet the 25 year mark required
for admittance.

As is the case with many bands, Deep Purple included many
musicians over the years, which presents the problem of deciding which members
are to be honored. Usually the Hall recognizes members of "classic"
lineups, whatever that means. In the case of Deep Purple, there are a number of
omissions for various reasons. Current members Steve Morse (who replaced the
notoriously cantankerous founding guitarist Ritchie Blackmore in 1994) and Don
Airey (who took over the keyboard chair from Jon Lord in 2002) are not
included, in spite of their years in the band. In addition, in spite of their
popularity (largely due to other projects) the one-album stints of guitarist
Tommy Bolin and vocalist Joe Lynn Turner were not enough to warrant inclusion.
In the end, the Hall chose to induct all of the members from the band's
inception in 1968 up to the departure of Blackmore in 1975.

All except for Nick Simper, the founding bassist who played
on the first three albums including the hit single, "Hush."

Nick Simper, today.

Commenting in Classic Rock magazine, Simper himself seemed
to take the snub in stride and did not blame his old bandmates. "Yes, it is a little strange that I am
[the] only one from Marks I, II and III being left out, but I shan't lose any
sleep over this. It's not as if I need to be given this award to know what we
did in Deep Purple made an impact. And I'm sure it wasn't a decision that came
from the band.”

Even considering that the band did not achieve their
greatest success or even their defining sound until his departure in 1969, his
exclusion is quite inexplicable. After all, vocalist Rod Evans, whose tenure
with band ended at the same time as Simper's, is being honored, in spite of
controversy and a lawsuit around fraudulent use of the band name.

Interviews with numerous Hall of Fame acts back up Simper's
belief that the groups themselves do not necessarily choose the inductees. I
have tried to find the specific rules as to who is to be included, and who
makes these decisions, but in vain. Even searching for consistency in the list
of members proves to be problematic. In my search for a set of criteria, I
found numerous examples which simply contradict each other.

The only thing I ever found that suggested a concrete rule
was in the case of Jack Sherman, erstwhile guitarist for the Red Hot Chili
Peppers. Sherman was vocal in his disappointment at being snubbed when the band
was inducted in 2012. Though the decision was ostensibly made by the Hall of
Fame, Sherman believed that the decision was influenced by the band itself.
Told that induction was limited to "original and current members, and
those who played on multiple records," he believed that it was
technicality designed to exclude him and Jane's Addiction guitarist Dave
Navarro, who played on the band's 1995 album One Hot Minute when long-time
member John Frusciante had taken a hiatus from the band. By these criteria,
Sherman, who played on the first album but was not a founding member, did not
qualify. In a turn of events that must have been particularly insulting,
current guitarist Josh Klinghoffer, who had only a full member of the band for
three years and had been all of four years old when the band was founded in
1983, did receive the honor of inclusion. This strange technicality made Klinghoffer
the youngest member of the Hall of Fame.

The "original and current members, and those who played
on multiple records" rule does explain many omissions, but not all. It
does not explain the exclusion of Fleetwood Mac guitarist Bob Welch in 1998.
Though Welch not a member of the original band or its later classic Rumours
line-up, he was a pivotal member for several years and albums and was essential
to saving a fracturing band while helping it make the transition from
blues-infused hard rock to the pristine pop rock for which it is best known.
Welsh attributed the snub to a then-recent breach of contract lawsuit between
him and his former bandmates. This of course, would be a fallacious argument if
the band indeed did not have some sort of say in who was inducted.

Stu doesn't need your pity.

But apparently the band may have some say. When the Rolling
Stones were inducted in 1989, the band requested that founding pianist Ian Stewart ("Stu") be
inducted with them, even though he was fired from the band (or to be more
specific, was demoted from band member to session musician and road manager)
before their first album. This decision was made by the Stones' manager, Andrew
Loog Oldham, who argued that the stocky, square-jawed Stewart did not fit the
image of the young rebellious band.
Jagger, Richards, and company, however, held him in high esteem. Keith
Richards would frequently say, even after Stu's death in 1985, "I still
feel like I'm working for him. It's his band." They presented the argument to the Hall that, in spite of the fact that he had never been credited as a
band member on any album, as a founder, he should be eligible. Now while he
technically fits the rule that excluded Jack Sherman, as a member who was not
terribly well known, it is hard to imagine that the Hall would have
automatically inducted Stewart if it were not for the band's intervention.

Warren Haynes

The current member factor seems to be used quite
inconsistently. When the Grateful Dead were inducted in 1994, keyboardist Vince
Welnick had been in the band for less than 4 years, but was still included .
Meanwhile, when the Allman Brothers Band were so honored the following year, only
original members were inducted, ignoring not only members from the mid 70s,
when their popularity was at its zenith, but also then-current members
including Warren Haynes, who was not only instrumental in their comeback six years earlier, but
would later prove to be the glue that would hold the band together over the
next couple of decades.¹

Now, I do not intend to slight Klinghoffer, but personally,
I believe that Haynes is far more deserving of the honor.

Which leads me back to the case of Nick Simper. Before Deep
Purple, Simper had played with a number of working English bands in the early
sixties. Notably, he was the last bass player for Johnny Kidd and the Pirates,
a hugely influential group whose single "Shakin' All Over" became a
rock staple and was famously covered by The Who on their Live at Leeds album.
Admittedly a late-comer to the group, Simper had the sad distinction of being
present (and injured) in the car crash that killed Kidd. He would later do a
stint in Screaming Lord Such and the Savages before playing in the Flower Pot
Men with Jon Lord.

It was Lord who recommended Simper to fill the role as
bassist in Deep Purple, a band that he was starting with guitarist Ritchie
Blackmore. When singer Rod Evans came to audition, he brought along his drummer
Ian Paice, and the lineup of what would later be known as Deep Purple, Mark I,
would be complete. That lineup, which played a blend of proto-progressive and
psychedelic rock, would find modest success and tour internationally.

Simper and Evans would be fired in 1969 due to the desire of
Blackmore, Lord, and Paice to take the band in a heavier direction. Simper
would play with a number of bands over the ensuing decades, but would never
find the same level of success. Evans would resurface in Captain Beyond, a band
that included former members of Iron Butterfly and Johnny Winter's band. Not
quite a "supergroup", they were at the very least a
"pretty-nifty-group." They released a couple of well received, if not
hot selling albums, before Evans left the music business to work as a
respiratory therapist.

Unfortunately, Evans' story took a pitiable turn in 1980,
when he was recruited by a disreputable promotion company to participate what
would be a Deep Purple reunion in name only, with a group of hired guns
(apparently Simper was also approached, but turned down the offer). After a few
warm-up gigs, the band was set to play at the 12,000 seat Long Beach Arena. On
the day of the show, the managers of (the real) Deep Purple placed a half page
ad in the LA Times informing audiences that no members of the band's most
popular Mark II and III lineups would be performing. The show went on as
scheduled, and went off poorly. Sound problems abounded, the band was below
subpar, and angry fans, realizing they'd been duped, began leaving immediately,
many asking for refunds. A lawsuit was brought against Evans (assumed by many
to be at the behest of guitarist Ritchie Blackmore) which resulted in his loss
of all future Deep Purple royalties. It is a sad and embarrassing story and one
does have to wonder how Evans, who was described by his former band mate, Bobby
Caldwell, as an "intellectual giant" (although, to be fair, this is
by rock star standards [ducks]) would have allowed himself to be roped in to
such a dubious enterprise.

When I saw that Evans was being inducted and that Simper was
not, I was perplexed. I don't think that Evans should be excluded for events of
over thirty years ago, but why was Simper excluded when his parallel tenure
with the band was not marred with controversy? Who decided? Do the bands in
question really have as little say as we are led to believe? Were there
inter-band politics that we do not know about, or is it just another example of
the bassist not getting any respect? This situation with Nick Simper and Deep
Purple, above all others, indicates to me that there really is no rhyme or
reason. Even if one argued that rules changed from year to year, this case indicates
a complete lack of logic within itself.

If anyone can shed light on this, please let me know.
Looking at these and other cases, it seems to me that the decisions of who gets
in and stays home and bitterly watches the ceremony on TV, are taken on a case
by case basis and based more on whims than specific criteria. We may never know
the answer, but the case of Nick Simper once again highlights the
irregularities and inconsistencies of the induction process of the Rock and
Roll Hall of Fame.

I guess we really can't take it that seriously.

(¹The only reason I can imagine for this strange paradox is
that Welnick joined a band that played together more or less continuously for
several decades, as opposed to Haynes who joined a band that was reforming
after having been broken up for several years. It's not much, but it's all I
got, and it would explain the absence of Deep Purple's Steve Morse and Don
Airey.)